


In, Mates

by WastingYourGum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-07 13:59:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 17,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WastingYourGum/pseuds/WastingYourGum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the middle of a heatwave and Sherlock needs some information from someone detained at Her Majesty's pleasure. It's an important task but a dull one -  so he sends his "best man" to go get it. Lestrade could delegate the task of accompanying John to someone else as well but he enjoys John's company so decides to go along himself...</p><p>And then all hell breaks loose.</p><p>John and Lestrade find themselves stuck in the middle of a full scale prison riot while Sherlock finds himself stuck in the middle of a whole bunch of emotions he really wasn't expecting... and he's not the only one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted anonymously on the kinkmeme for [this prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/9100.html?thread=41950348#t41950348).
> 
> Finally getting round to posting here for Silver Fox Saturdays ;)

Lestrade stood up, peeled off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of the chair he'd been sitting on. "Taking their bloody time," he grumbled.

"Maybe he's escaped?" John suggested.

"Maybe those idle bastards have gone for a cuppa and left us here to twiddle our thumbs. They hate short-notice visits like this - spoils their nice cosy routine."

John smiled quietly to himself. Lestrade had loosened up a lot around him in the time they'd been working together and now spoke to him like a colleague rather than an outsider. John appreciated that far more than he'd ever let on.

They'd been in the interview room for a little over twenty minutes by John's watch. Other than himself and Lestrade the only other things in the room were three orange plastic chairs, a plain wooden table, a completely ineffectual desk fan and an ancient radiator covered with chipped paint. The radiator was off and the fan was on but the room still felt like an oven thanks to the unseasonable heat wave currently baking the South East of England.

The fan had a particularly grating rattle as it wobbled back and forth and a single fluorescent strip light hummed overheard, just loud enough to be irritating. No wonder Sherlock had 'delegated' this task - he'd have been gnawing his way through the walls by now.

John wasn't at all bothered. The Army never specifically trained you in 'waiting around' but you got good at it nonetheless. The heat didn't really trouble him either. He still had an undershirt on beneath his button-up though he could see Lestrade's chest hair sticking damply to his thin cotton shirt showing he'd decided to go without.

John quickly directed his attention elsewhere. Wouldn't do to be caught staring at Lestrade's nipples after all.

The oppressive silence was suddenly shattered by some distant shouting and a bell rang somewhere down the corridor outside for about 10 seconds before it cut off again.

They both stared at the door while the bell was ringing but relaxed again when it ceased and the shouting died down.

Lestrade plucked at the front of his shirt as he started pacing back and forth. He dragged his hand over the back of his neck before absentmindedly wiping the dampness off on his trouser leg.

John watched him, content to stay still and sweat less.

Lestrade's pacing came to a sudden halt. "Bugger this. I'll be back in a minute." He strode over to the door, yanked it open and headed out into the corridor.

The heat was clearly making him cranky. John spared a very brief moment of pity for whichever poor guard he happened upon first.

To John's surprise Lestrade dashed back into the room only moments later. He slammed the door shut behind him and rapidly looked John up and down. "Stand up and get your shirt off - now!"

"What?" John was totally bewildered but his instinctual reaction to the tone of command meant he had already stood up before Lestrade replied.

"The whole place has gone to hell - some kind of riot . We're on the wrong side of the lock-down. I'm bound to be recognised but if they think you're an inmate--" Lestrade snatched the shirt down off John's arms as soon as he'd finished unbuttoning it.

John was now in a plain white t-shirt and jeans, which looked enough like what most of the prisoners wore to get away with it.

"Lestrade, I'm not going to--"

"Shut up. There'll be a mob of them through that door any minute." Lestrade unclipped John's visitor's ID from the shirt and threw it to John before stuffing the shirt down behind the radiator. "Get rid of that!"

John looked round but there was no viable hiding place and the flat square of laminated plastic was too large for his pockets. He shoved the ID down the back of his trousers.

"I'm going to try to hold the door..." Lestrade said.

"Against a mob?"

Lestrade ignored him. "You're going to jump me from behind and let them in - hopefully before it gets too nasty. Don't worry if you have to thump me a few times - better you than one of them, eh?"

There was a loud crash from the corridor and then several voices shouting and growing noisier as they approached down the hall.

"Ready?" Lestrade asked.

"Greg, this is nuts. I can't--"

"That's D.I. Lestrade to you, Watson." Lestrade winked but his face was instantly serious again as the door shuddered at the first impact from outside. "In your own time, John - and make it convincing or we're both scuppered."


	2. Chapter 2

John kicked his chair back, took a deep breath and launched himself across the room. He rugby tackled Lestrade round the waist as if he was an opposing forward going for a try. The door shook with the impact as their combined weight slammed against it. They bounced off and the door flew open. A group of men piled in, baying for blood.

Lestrade fell onto his back and after a brief scramble, John wound up straddling him. He dodged as Lestrade swung a wild punch at his head then grabbed the front of Lestrade's shirt and, mentally apologising, punched him in the face.

The onlookers yelled their encouragement. "Yeah - fuckin' 'ave' 'im, shorty!"

John grunted as Lestrade got in a solid blow to his ribs. He landed one more punch to Lestrade's jaw, feeling the blood from a cut lip smear across his knuckles, before he was hauled off by two of the men who had come in. Two others grabbed Lestrade and hauled him to his feet. They threw him back up against the wall and one of them punched hard into his stomach. Lestrade doubled over and dropped forward onto his hands and knees. Someone's boot stomped down into his back and he sprawled face down on the floor. The group descended on him in a flurry of kicks and punches and Lestrade instinctively curled into a ball, trying to protect his head.

John tired to keep Lestrade in sight but found himself pushed to the back of the scrum. He was about to wade in to his defence when a loud voice cut through the din.

"Oi! Cut it out!" 

Everybody stopped as a much larger man pushed his way through and came to the front. He was about 6'4", powerfully built with cropped blond hair and matching beard. John guessed he was probably in his mid-to-late forties. 

"Save it, lads. He's fuck all use dead." The man poked Lestrade with his foot. The policeman was lying curled up on his side, with his arms still around his head, gasping for breath. "Find something to tie him up with. "

John unplugged the small electric fan on the table and yanked the flex from it. "Here. I'll do it." He pushed Lestrade over onto his front, sat on his legs and tied his hands behind his back. It looked like a very secure job - if you didn't look too closely. He grabbed Lestrade under one arm while someone else took the other and they lifted him onto his feet.

Lestrade wobbled a little before finding his balance and raising his head. One eye was already swelling shut and a stream of blood ran from his nose down over his mouth and chin, staining his lips red. From the murmur that ran through the crowd John knew he'd been right about being recognised.

The tall man's grin nearly split his face. "Well, well, well - Mr. Lestrade. This day just gets better and better."

Lestrade blinked, swallowed and took a few breaths before rasping out, "Hello, Lenny. How's your Mum doing?"

"She's good, thanks. You still hanging round with that lanky, posh poof, Holmes?"

"Can't get rid of him," Lestrade replied. "He must fancy me or something."

A large, bald-headed man covered in tattoos roughly patted Lestrade's face. "He's not the only one, gorgeous," he leered. Several of the other men sniggered at that. John's stomach clenched.

Lenny brushed the tattooed man's hand aside. "Plenty time for that later, Nipper. Come on, you. Let's get you down to the rec room and show the screws our bargaining chip, eh?" Lenny grabbed Lestrade's shoulder and dragged him out of the interview room. 

John followed as close as he dared in the mob behind them.


	3. Chapter 3

_"The whole place has gone to hell..."_

Lestrade hadn't been kidding. The air was filled with acrid smoke from something burning and John's ears rang with the sound of alarms mixed with screaming and shouting. There were small groups everywhere, either fighting among themselves or teaming up to wreck as much of the fixtures and fittings as they could get their hands on.

John saw three prisoners gathered around another on the floor, repeatedly kicking him. The man was already unconscious and John had to fight against every instinct he felt to go help him. He hoped they didn't come across any guards being similarly assaulted or he might not be able to stop himself.

As they made their way downstairs John quickly realised that Lenny must be someone with a reputation. Other prisoners moved aside to let his group pass and when they saw who Lenny had with him, quite a few joined them.

Eventually the mob spilled into the large central room that served as the rec room and dining hall. Most of the chairs and tables had been thrown into a pile against one wall except for one of the tables which one group was using as a battering ram to try to smash their way through the heavy shutters into the kitchen. The news about the unexpected guest's identity spread like wildfire through the rioters. There was a loud chorus of whistles and jeers as Lestrade was hustled into a space that opened up in the centre of the room.

A young man who looked barely out of his teens ran up yelling and tried to punch Lestrade in the head. Lenny casually swatted him out of the way and then pointed at the young man as he lay groaning on the floor, holding his jaw. "This bastard is mine. Nobody fucking touches him without my say-so. Got it?" The young man nodded and backed away. Lenny looked up and around at the assembled crowd. "Got it?" There was a rumble of grudging consent. After that no-one laid a finger on the D.I. but plenty took the opportunity to hurl abuse at him and spit in his direction.

Lestrade kept his head bowed and didn't respond, though John could see his fists clenching and unclenching.

John managed to stay within a reasonable distance of Lestrade but he was conscious of not drawing any attention to himself. He'd already spotted a few familiar faces; people that Sherlock had identified and Lestrade had arrested but John hadn't had much interaction with. John hoped none of them remembered Sherlock's "blogger" or things could go tits up in a heartbeat. Thankfully they were all much more interested in the main attraction.

A security camera was mounted in a metal cage high up in one corner. Someone had thrown a blanket over it. Lenny signalled for it to be removed. He stood in front of the camera and held Lestrade's head up with one hand on his jaw and the other fisted in his hair so his face could be clearly seen. "You getting this, screws?" he shouted. "You see who we've got?"

The mob cheered...

* * *

"Who the hell is that?" The guard watching the screen leaned closer to peer at the image then turned in time to see his younger colleague standing behind him go pale.

"Oh _shit_. I forgot about them."

"Who?"

"He's a D.I. from the Met. Him and another bloke came here to interview Derek Williams. It was all hush-hush and off the record. I was on my way to get him when it all kicked off."

"A _D.I._? Bloody hell..."

"They're gonna crucify him, aren't they?"

"No, lucky for him and lucky for _you_ , it looks like they know he's worth more to them alive. What about the guy who was with him? Where's he?"

"Don't know." The younger guard leaned over. "I can't see him but the picture's pretty crap. Maybe he's hiding?"

"Or maybe they thought they didn't need two hostages. Fuck." The guard picked up his phone and started dialling. "Better let the negotiator know. This changes everything."


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock slammed down the lid of John's laptop with an exasperated growl. It was practically _impossible_ to find any useful information online from before 1990. More official records were being made available all the time but it was things like local newspapers and social networking sites that usually held the best stuff for his purposes.

Sherlock's entire hypothesis on the death of Tom Stapley hinged on whether or not he had owned a Yorkshire Terrier in 1987. Unfortunately finding anything in the man's flat had proved to be near impossible. He had been a compulsive hoarder and the place was piled floor to ceiling with all manner of letters, newspapers, junk and rubbish.

Sherlock's one consolation in that respect had been the look on Anderson's face when he realised the scale of the task from a Forensics point of view. He'd looked so crestfallen Sherlock had felt moved to pat him on the shoulder and offer a condescending "There, there," before leaving to pursue more constructive investigations.

Those investigations had turned up Tom Stapley's criminal record - a lifetime of petty larceny and frequent detentions. Back in 1988, the second to last time he'd been locked up, Stapley had shared a cell with Derek Williams. It wasn't inconceivable that Stapley may have mentioned his dog to his cell mate - unlikely, but not inconceivable. Relying on the dubious memory of a old lag like Williams on such a seemingly trivial detail was hardly ideal but it was the best Sherlock had to go on right now.

What was taking them so long anyway? Lestrade had been certain he'd be able to get John and himself in and out in under an hour.

Oh God - John probably felt sorry for Williams and was sitting listening to his entire life story over tea and biscuits. Williams' wife had died ten years ago and he had no children so he was unlikely to receive any visitors. If the length of time John spent with Mrs Hudson when she was in a chatty mood was anything to go by, they'd be there for most of the day if Williams wanted to take advantage of the company.

No. Unacceptable. Sherlock needed them back here now, with whatever information they'd obtained. He pulled out his mobile. A couple of quick texts should remind them this wasn't a social call. Now who to contact first? John- or Lestrade?

* * *

Lenny held Lestrade in front of the camera for about a minute before turning away and signalling for the blanket to be thrown over the camera's cage again. "Gimme a chair," he ordered.

One of the ubiquitous plastic orange chairs was set upright and Lenny roughly shoved Lestrade down into it. "Take a seat, Mr Lestrade." He nodded at one of the men standing behind Lestrade's chair. "Hold him." The man leaned forward and firmly grasped Lestrade's shoulders, digging his fingers in as painfully as possible as Lenny loomed menacingly over Lestrade and reached towards him.

John was about fifteen feet behind Lestrade and the man pinning his shoulders had just very effectively blocked John's view. He shifted hastily round to his left and found a better angle where Lenny and Lestrade were now sideways on to him. 

Fortunately it appeared Lenny was only searching Lestrade's pockets. He pulled out Lestrade's wallet and warrant card and shoved them into his own trousers.

Lestrade glared at him but kept quiet and still. 

And that was when the muffled chime of a mobile phone receiving a text message got the undivided attention of everyone in the room...


	5. Chapter 5

Lenny jammed his hand into Lestrade's other trouser pocket and pulled out Lestrade's mobile phone. He grinned as he looked at the display and John knew whose name must be showing.

With a jolt John suddenly remembered he still had his own phone on him. He stuck his hands in his pockets as casually as he could and thumbed the button to switch it on to silent mode. Seconds later he felt it vibrating against his hip. Thank God Sherlock had texted Lestrade first and not him.

Lenny chuckled then read aloud from the screen. "Get this. 'How long does it take to question one inmate? Get back here now. SH'." He pouted down at Lestrade. "Aw - your boyfriend's missing you, in't that sweet?"

"Piss off," Lestrade replied. He gasped as the man behind him dug his fingers further into the sensitive bundle of nerves in his shoulders.

Lenny's large thumbs carefully pressed out a message which he narrated as he typed. "May... be... _detained_... a bit... longer. Had... better... offer... to be... C Wing... bitch."

There was a chorus of nasty laughter from the crowd around them.

John shifted uncomfortably as a cold trickle of sweat ran down his lower back. He had to find somewhere quiet he could use his phone -but there was no way he was taking his eyes off Lestrade given the current atmosphere.

The phone rang.

Lenny theatrically put his finger to his lips and the crowd quieted as he pressed the reply button and held the phone up to his ear...

* * *

 

Sherlock frowned as he read Lestrade's reply. He frequently failed to comprehend Lestrade's sense of humour but even so, that was not a message he would expect from a fairly professional police officer. He considered another text but decided it would be quicker to get straight to the heart of the matter. He dialled Lestrade's number.

It was answered after one ring. "Mr Lestrade's phone." Broad cockney putting on a posh accent. "'Ow may I 'elp you?"

"Who is this?" Sherlock demanded.

There was a low chuckle from the other end. "You mean you can't tell? You must be slipping, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock closed his eyes and thought briefly before he placed the voice. "Lenny 'the King' Fisher. The Stansted bullion robbery."

"In the flesh. I'm touched you remember me."

"I rarely forget things - and I still have that small scar on my arm you were kind enough to give me as a reminder. Since you are in possession of his phone, I assume you've somehow incapacitated D.I. Lestrade?"

"You assume correctly," Lenny said primly.

"Is he still alive?" Sherlock asked quickly - too quickly. Damn. He bit his lip. He hadn't expected to sound so worried.

"For now he is. Jury's still out on the final verdict - and you know how fickle juries can be."

Sherlock took a second to compose his voice again and sound as nonchalant as possible. "And the man he was with?"

Lenny laughed. "He was only too happy to give the D.I. a good smack before we all joined in. I don't think you'll be getting whatever you were after from him."

Sherlock swiftly processed this unexpected information. He couldn't mean Williams - he was nearly seventy. So John then. But why would John hit Lestrade? Oh - he must be masquerading as an inmate. Ingenious. "Pity, but it was a long shot. I understand he packs quite a punch for a smaller man. I hope he hasn't damaged what little brain Lestrade has."

_John is tougher than he looks and not on my side... Lestrade is not that personally important to me..._ Sherlock could only hope Fisher was getting the sentiments he was trying to convey.

"Hard to tell. Don't worry though - pigs are notoriously hard-headed. Listen."

There was a muffled thud followed by a lot of men laughing. He couldn't be certain, but Sherlock had to imagine Fisher had hit Lestrade's head with something.

"Well, it's been _lovely_ chatting with you," Fisher continued, "But I have one or two things to be getting on with. You can tell those bastards on the outside they can get me on this number. We've got plenty to talk about while I've got the D.I., don't we?"

The call disconnected.

Sherlock rummaged in the sofa cushions for the remote and turned the television on. He flicked the channel to BBC News 24 and was greeted with an aerial shot of the prison taken by a circling helicopter. There was smoke billowing from several windows. The ticker along the bottom mentioned unconfirmed reports of one or more hostages.

Sherlock stared at the screen while his mind ran through and discarded several strategies, trying to think of any alternative, but finally he had to admit defeat.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

He phoned Mycroft...


	6. Chapter 6

John edged closer to Lestrade while everyone's attention was on Lenny. If Sherlock let slip about John's real identity he was going to have to think fast. 

His heart almost stopped when Lenny looked up and scanned the crowd until he met John's eye.

"...only too happy to give the D.I. a good smack before we all joined in." Lenny winked at John. "I don't think you'll be getting..."

John forced himself to grin and nod back. I hope you figure it out, Sherlock...

Lenny paced back and forth as he spoke until he suddenly turned and headed straight for Lestrade. "...notoriously hard-headed. Listen." Lenny backhanded Lestrade across his face with one huge swing of his fist. Lestrade's head snapped to the side and his chair tipped up onto two legs before over-balancing and pitching him sideways onto the floor where he landed with a loud grunt. The group laughed as Lestrade wheezed for breath and shook his head from the impact.

When Lenny hung up he took a mock bow as the other inmates clapped and cheered. "Right lads, looks like dinner is going to be on the D.I. - so what do we fancy? Pizza? Indian?"

"Roast pig!" someone suggested, to more cheers.

"He'll be that anyway. Fucking hotter than hell in here," Lenny replied. 

John had to admit they had a point. The Victorian building was poorly ventilated and the recent warm weather had turned it into a large brick oven. The air was heavy with heat and thick with the sweaty smell of a lot of men in close quarters. There was an angry atmosphere hanging over the whole place - a sense of barely-contained violence that threatened to spill over at any second. Surely the warders must have seen something like this coming?

Lenny looked down at Lestrade. "Bet you've got lovely air conditioning in that shiny glass office of yours, haven't you? Nice and cool while we're sweating our bollocks off in this crumbling old dump."

Lestrade spat out a mouthful of blood. "So what do you want? A paddling pool and some lollies? It's not meant to be bloody Butlins, " he growled.

Somebody in the crowd behind him kicked Lestrade's back, making him cry out as his body reflexively arched away.

Lenny glared at the offender who backed off, muttering apologies. "You," Lenny whirled round and pointed at John who froze on the spot. "Woss yer name?"

"John."

Lenny slowly looked him up and down. "Army?"

"Uh, yeah, used to be. Got invalided back from Afghanistan about a year ago."

"Thought so. Where'd you get hit?"

"Helmand province, near--"

"Where on _you_ , you chump?"

"Oh, shoulder." John tugged across the neck of his t-shirt to show the top of his scar.

Lenny jerked his head towards Lestrade. "So what were you doing upstairs with this tosser?"

"He... said I could get a deal if I grassed on the guy they were going to put me in with." John prayed the guards hadn't reached Williams and told him of his visitors before it all went pear shaped. Where was Williams anyway? Was he even in this wing?

"Who'd he want you to grass on?"

"Dunno - we hadn't got that far yet. He'd just offered the deal and I'd just told him to fuck off."

Lenny laughed. "What you in for anyway?"

John said the first thing that popped into his head. "Shot a cabbie."

Lenny's eyebrows raised. "Bloody hell! What for?"

"Well, for one thing, he wasn't a very good cabbie." John smiled the same smile he'd given Sherlock last time he'd delivered that line. He noticed the same look flit across Lenny's face as had come across Sherlock's - the look that said he was swiftly re-evaluating the man standing before him.

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of Lestrade's phone ringing. "Right," Lenny said. "Let's see how much the screws think he's worth. Johnno - you keep an eye on him." He pointed at Lestrade. "Nipper - get some proper lookouts organised. I want to know if they try any funny business." He lifted the phone to his ear and moved away towards the far end of the hall.

Nipper - the large bald-headed man with the tattoos who John assumed must be Lenny's second in command - started shouting directions at people. Most of the crowd drifted away, sensing the entertainment was over for the time being.

John slowly walked towards Lestrade, fighting hard against his instinct to rush to a fallen comrade's side...


	7. Chapter 7

"No? What do you mean no?"

Sherlock was livid. He was hot, he was even more restless than usual, something felt wrong with his stomach and on top of everything else, he had just asked Mycroft, of all people, an utterly banal question.

Mycroft's voice was as irritatingly calm as ever. "I fail to understand what you think I can possibly do, Sherlock. Doctor Watson and D.I. Lestrade are inside a high security facility, surrounded by hostile and unpredictable forces. Any attempt to retrieve them, overt or otherwise, would almost certainly result in their deaths and most likely, quite a few others."

"So you're going to do nothing? Just sit on your _fat_ backside and watch?" Sherlock seethed.

"On the contrary," Mycroft's voice was undercut by the sound of speedy typing. "I have already provided the people in charge of the situation with D.I. Lestrade's mobile number - along with several tactical suggestions - and made clear to them the part Doctor Watson is attempting to play."

"Oh, that'll be a _great_ \--"

"I am _also_ ," Mycroft continued over the top of Sherlock's sarcasm, "sending a car to take you directly to the command facility that has been set up to deal with the negotiations. You will have access to all the information they have and can provide any assistance you feel appropriate."

"If they listen to me."

"They will. However, I should warn you that since I am so intimately acquainted with how your mind works, my people are under strict instructions that if you make any attempt _whatsoever_ to gain access to the facility yourself, they have my full permission to restrain and, if necessary, sedate you."

"What?!"

"Your safety is my overriding priority, Sherlock. I appreciate your concern for your colleagues and I will endeavour to ensure their safe return but under no circumstances will I allow you to put yourself at risk of sharing their fate."

"Have I mentioned how much I loathe and detest you with every fibre of my being?" Sherlock growled.

"Not since Tuesday, no. I'm sorry, Sherlock, I must go. I will continue to monitor the situation, of course."

"Of course."

Sherlock closed his phone, grabbed his keys and his laptop and headed downstairs. The sleek black car was already pulling up outside the flat by the time he closed the front door behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

The initial frenzy died down as the inmates quickly ran out of energy in the stifling heat. They slumped against walls or picked up chairs to sit on. The sense of menace was still there but the adrenalin that had been feeding it had waned. For now, the beast was subdued - but far from idle.

Lenny seemed to be in his element; setting up barricades and look outs, directing Nipper and his 'troops' like a gaoled general. There probably hadn't been any initial plan - past "wreck everything you can get your hands on" - but now they had a hostage, the whole situation had changed. Rioting had turned to resistance - and organised resistance at that.

John checked to make sure no-one was paying much attention to him as he strolled over to Lestrade. The D.I. was still lying on his side on the floor where Lenny's backhand had sent him. 

John's first priority was to check Lestrade's eyes to see if there were any signs of concussion but Lestrade was keeping his head down and his eyes were shut.

John crouched down beside him. Lestrade's breathing sounded regular and even so hopefully his ribs were alright. John put one hand on Lestrade's back, grabbed his chin with the other and turned his head up towards the light. "Hey."

Lestrade stiffened and his eyes widened in fear for a moment before he recognised who was talking to him.

John muttered "Sorry," under his breath as he studied Lestrade's eyes closely. The right was clear and alert but he could barely see the left one thanks to the swelling. The rest of his face was also a bit of a mess. A nasty cut near his forehead had bled quite heavily down down the side of his head and neck, staining his shirt collar. It would definitely need stitches. There were several other cuts and bruises - and the split lip that John had given him and Lenny had 'improved' on.

John felt a surge of anger go through him; he _liked_ Lestrade's face - and especially his eyes. He'd had plenty of time to study Lestrade while Sherlock was pontificating at crime scenes and he had to admit he thought the D.I. was a handsome bloke; if he could get a couple of decent night's sleep and the opportunity to smile more often, he'd be an absolute heart-breaker.

Not that John would tell him so to his face, no matter how much he might wish to. Some observations were best kept to yourself, no matter what Sherlock thought.

"Come on, you - get up," John snarled - for the benefit of anyone in earshot. He grabbed Lestrade under his arms and hauled him back up onto the chair Lenny had knocked him off.

John lightly gripped a handful of Lestrade's hair -something he'd also frequently daydreamed of doing, though not exactly in these circumstances - and leaned over him so their faces were only inches apart. He spoke in a low voice, trying to make it appear as if he were threatening him, rather than reassuring him. "Is your head OK? Any double vision, feeling nauseous?"

Lestrade whispered, "No. Got a hell of a headache though."

"OK. Let me know if it gets worse. Anything else that might be a problem? Ribs? Back?

"No. Just sore."

"How are your hands?"

"Fine. The idiot who tied them doesn't know his knots."

John suppressed a smile. "Well, that's good to know. Listen, I've still got my phone on me; don't worry, I've switched it to silent. I'm going to try to find somewhere private and send a text to Sherlock."

"OK - but look, John, if you do manage to slip away, if you get even the slightest chance, get the hell out of here, yeah? You've got a far better chance without me."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," John said, sternly.

"Yeah, well, my hearing must be coming and going too - I completely missed what you told Lenny you were in for."

John's stomach flipped a little. God, that had been stupid! He'd always suspected Lestrade knew exactly what had happened that night at Roland-Kerr College and now he'd as good as confessed right in front of him.

Lestrade held his gaze. "I know you're a good man, John. Like I said - my hearing must be dodgy."

John nodded and a quiet moment of understanding passed between them. They both knew what they both knew and they could leave it at that. "You're a good man too, Greg. I'm not leaving you. I'm going to find some way to get us both out of here, if I can," John promised.

"Oi! You!" They both looked up to see Nipper was heading straight for them. "What are you up to?"

"I was... just telling him what I would do if I got him alone," John answered, entirely truthfully.

Nipper's grin was extremely unpleasant. "Yeah, I've had a few thoughts on that myself..."


	9. Chapter 9

Before John could stop him, Nipper had lifted Lestrade off his seat, dragged him a short way across the hall, and thrown him face-down across one of the tables. He pinned Lestrade's bound arms to the small of his back with one hand and started fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers with the other.

Lestrade dropped even the pretence of staying calm. His arms strained against the flex holding his arms but Nipper's hold removed all the slack John had left him. He struggled and kicked out but Nipper had done this before. He dodged Lestrade's flailing legs then positioned himself between them, pushing them apart with his own thighs. "You keep wriggling, darlin' - it'll just make it better."

John grabbed Nipper's forearm. "Lenny said not to kill him!"

"I'm not gonna kill him," Nipper leered. "I'm just gonna fuck him till he bleeds. I wanna hear him scream like the stuck pig he's gonna be."

John looked round. Several of the others had noticed the scene and were already closing in. John dropped his voice, conspiratorially. "You fuck him in here, it'll turn into a scrum. Everyone'll want a piece and then he's good as dead," he pointed out. "Better to wait and do it somewhere quieter, take your time, right?"

Nipper paused. "Yeah, you're right. Be a shame to rush it." He flipped Lestrade over, grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted him up so they were face to face. "And I want you to enjoy every second, sweetheart."

Lestrade looked terrified. The eye John could see was blown wide with panic and his breathing was fast and shaky.

John had a sudden brainwave. "Why don't we take him back upstairs?" he suggested. "Tell Lenny you can keep a better eye on him there. Harder for the screws or anybody else to get to him, easier for you to decide who gets in to the party..."

"That's not a bad idea, shorty," Nipper said. "I'll even hold him down for you if you fancy a bit yourself " he offered. "Get in early though - by the time me and my mates are done, he'll be so slack you could fuck him with a telephone pole." He laughed and dropped Lestrade back onto the table.

"You tell Lenny what we're doing," John said, grabbing Lestrade's collar. "I'll take him upstairs and I'll see you there."

"Like fuck you will, you sick little fuck!" Lestrade pulled away, trying to wrestle himself out of John's grip.

John was shocked. For a moment he thought Lestrade might be panicking so much he'd forgotten who John really was. This was their best chance to get away. Was Lestrade deliberately trying to blow it? Then he realised - of course a hardened copper like Lestrade wouldn't just meekly agree to get taken upstairs to be gang-raped - especially by someone John's size.

John grabbed him again and slapped him, grateful his left-handedness meant he was hitting the less bruised side of Lestrade's face. "You'll go where you're fucking told, bitch!" He turned to Nipper. "Got a shiv?"

Nipper shouted at the others who had approached, "Fuck off, you lot. Nothing to see here." He handed over a toothbrush whose handle had been sharpened to a point. "Here."

"Cheers." John held it to Lestrade's throat. "Don't give me an excuse to use this, yeah? I can do plenty damage that won't kill you."

Lestrade nodded, very carefully.

"Right, come on." John hauled Lestrade to his feet and pushed him in front of him.

They had almost made it to the door leading to the stairs when Nipper shouted, "Oi - Johnno!" and came running after them.

John turned round, braced for trouble. "Yeah?"

Nipper prodded John's chest with one large finger. "No starting early - he's mine first. You fuck his arse, I'll fuck yours, got it?"

"Got it."

"Good lad. I'll be up in a minute - with a few mates." Nipper winked and headed off again.

John shoved Lestrade through the door and followed him out into the corridor.

Lestrade stumbled onto the bottom of the stairs and started climbing.

"No, not that way." John pulled him back.

"What?"

"You really want to go where they're going to come looking for you?"

Lestrade shook his head in disbelief at his own actions. "Good point. Lucky one of us still has his wits about him, eh?"

"One of us hasn't had his head used for a football," John replied.

Lestrade laughed weakly. He looked like he was about to collapse any minute from nervous exhaustion.

John could hardly blame him - that had been far too close for comfort. He looked round and once he'd made sure they were alone, he tugged the cord from Lestrade's wrists.

Lestrade groaned as he brought his arms round in front of him and stretched his stiff shoulder muscles. "Thanks."

"No problem. Right - let's head down here." John nodded to another set of doors at the far end of the passage. "We need to find a way out or somewhere we can barricade ourselves in."

"Text Sherlock. He might be able to guide us."

"Yep. Keep an eye out for me."

John tapped out a message as they walked briskly down the corridor.

_L & J escped alone N of dng hall. J plyng prsnr. Req rte 2 hide/exit._

They'd just made it to the doors when John's phone buzzed with a reply...


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock found a manilla folder and a mobile phone waiting for him on the seat of Mycroft's car.

As soon as he sat down the car glided away from the kerb and into traffic.

"How long?" he asked the driver.

"Approximately 17 minutes, sir."

Sherlock made a _tch_ of impatience and opened the folder. It was full of detailed structural plans of the prison with the areas controlled by the inmates clearly marked.

"The number of the control centre has been programmed into the phone - to keep your phone free, sir."

Sherlock picked it up, selected the number and hit the Call button. It rang just once before being answered.

"Mr Holmes?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"My name's Steven Roberts - I've been advised of your interest in the situation. I understand you know the two men stuck inside?"

"Yes. Are you the negotiator?"

"No, I'm an assistant. The negotiator's name is Tom Harper - he's on the phone to the prisoners right now."

"To Lenny Fisher, you mean."

"Yes. Are you acquainted with Mr Fisher?"

"In so much as I provided the information that led to his arrest. Nothing more. I would warn you however, not to underestimate his intelligence or his capacity for violence. "

"Yeah, we got that impression quite quickly. What about your two friends - what can you tell me about them?"

_That it's entirely my fault they're in there, that I'm more worried for their safety than I can say and this is exactly why I've steered clear of having friends up until now..._ "Lestrade is a career policeman; John Watson is a ex-army medic who has seen active combat. They are both more than capable of holding their own in a straight fight and neither of them are likely to lose their heads in a situation like this."

"We know they have Lestrade but there's been no mention of Watson. We were advised not to ask about him."

"I believe the prisoners are unaware of his true identity. We mustn't draw attention to him if that is the case."

"Have you heard from him?"

"Not yet. I texted him before I was aware he was trying to pass incognito but there's been no reply. I don't know if he has his phone turned on or even if he has it on him. If he has been able to avoid detection he'll try and stay close to Lestrade and that may mean he doesn't have the opportunity to get in touch."

"I'll get the footage we have from earlier queued up for you. There's not much of it I'm afraid, but you can see if you can spot him in the crowd."

"The cameras inside have been disabled?"

"No, they're all working - they've just been tampered with; covered up or had stuff thrown at the lenses. We still control all the security systems so they're not going anywhere but at the same time they've physically barricaded the doors so we can't get in."

"But if Lestrade and Watson need to get out?"

"It's a high-security building, Mr Holmes. It's designed specifically to prevent that."

"No, it's designed to keep people in that you _want_ to keep in. If the building is on their side, that's a different story altogether." Sherlock spread out some of the floor plans on the seat and across his knees. "They're holding Lestrade in the recreation hall?" he asked.

"Last we saw," Roberts replied.

"Right. We need to find a route ready that they can take if they manage to get out of there. That part's entirely up to them unfortunately. Has anybody actually spoken to Lestrade since you saw him?"

"No, sir." There was a muffled noise as Roberts put his hand over the phone and spoke to someone beside him. "Harper's just asking to do so. We'll tell Fisher we can't promise him anything unless he proves Lestrade is still alive and unharmed."

"OK. When he speaks to Lestrade, remember the role John is playing and try to get Lestrade to confirm it. We also need him to confirm he's still in the rec hall." Sherlock looked up through the partition at the back of the driver's head. "ETA?"

"Eleven minutes, sir," the driver replied.

"I'll be with you in ten minutes. Can you have--" Sherlock was interrupted by his personal phone announcing a new text message. "Wait! I have a message. This may be John." He tucked the spare phone under his chin while he quickly opened the message and read it. "Ha! Well done, John... Oh!" Sherlock almost dropped both phones as he realised the full implication of John's text. He scrambled to speak into the first phone. "Roberts! Stop him! Stop Harper asking to speak to Lestrade! They don't have him any more but they may not know it yet... Roberts? Roberts!"

"...Sorry, sir. Fisher's already said he's going to fetch him..."


	11. Chapter 11

John and Lestrade barged through some large double doors into another cross corridor.

John's phone signalled an incoming text. Lestrade watched John closely as he read it. His frown pretty much said it all. 

Lestrade knew he wouldn't like the answer but still had to ask. "What's the news?"

"Fisher's coming to find you so you can talk to the negotiator." John pressed a few buttons and held the phone up to his ear.

"Shit."

"Pretty much what I thought, yeah..." John switched his attention from Lestrade back to his phone. "Sherlock - got your message. We're on our own so talking's quicker. Anywhere we can go from here?"

There was a smell of damp and cleaning chemicals in the air. Lestrade guessed they were near the toilets and showers. He checked left - open doorways into tiled rooms - and right - two closed doors and another set of stairs.

"Yeah, well, we _didn't_ go out the South door, we came out the North one," John snapped. "Seriously? Nowhere?"

Lestrade took a deep breath. _I don't believe I'm going to say this..._ "We can go back." He was surprised how calm he sounded. "Try and continue the bluff."

John just _looked_ at him. "Shut up, Greg. Not an option. Sherlock, for fuck's sake - give me something, _anything_."

Lestrade glanced back through the glass in the doors behind them in time to see Lenny coming out of the rec hall, followed by Nipper. Lenny had a face like thunder. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, turned and barked something at Nipper, clearly not happy he'd let Lestrade out of his sight.

Lestrade grabbed John's shirt and pulled him down below the level of the window. "Lenny's going upstairs," he hissed. "We'll have to head him off."

"What? Greg, you can't-- Greg!"

Lestrade ignored him. If he stopped and thought about what he was doing, he'd only talk himself out of it. He kept low and headed for the stairs. Behind him, he heard John trying to keep up his running commentary to Sherlock as he followed.

"No, he's heading upstairs to meet them, the set of stairs to the right... Any rooms we can reach from this end? Yeah... Right... Gotcha. Ok - back to silent." John caught up with him at the top of the stairs and pushed open the door on the right. "Through here. First on the right then into the first room on the left."

They both dived through the doorway. Further away they could hear muted voices as Lenny and Nipper reached the top of the other stairs just around the corner.

John led the way into what turned out to be the same room they'd started off in, what felt like another lifetime ago. Lestrade's suit jacket was in a torn heap on the floor.

Lestrade grabbed a chair, set it upright and sat down heavily. "Like we never left... Shit! My hands!" He saw John's eyes widen as he realised the same thing Lestrade just had - his hands were untied. Lestrade looked around for anything even remotely resembling the cord he had been previously tied with but the room was now bare. He thrust his hands behind his back and clasped them together. "Christ. They'll never fall for this."

The voices were only a few feet from the door now.

"Sorry, Greg. Hold still." John stepped towards him, grimly pulling out the shiv Nipper had given him.

"What are you--?" Lestrade was struck dumb as John gripped the shiv between his teeth and tore open the front of Lestrade's shirt. He pushed it back off Lestrade's shoulders and down his arms so the material hung down covering his hands.

"You bloody genius!" Lestrade muttered in admiration.

John grinned at him and winked as he took the shiv out of his mouth. His grin vanished and he jumped back from Lestrade as Lenny and Nipper barged through the door and stopped dead.

Lestrade looked from the surprised faces of the two cons to John, who had "caught in the act" written all over him. He gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Never thought I'd be glad to see you, Lenny. Short-arse here is a fucking psychopath," he said breathlessly.

"I told you not to touch him," Nipper growled.

John backed off, holding up his hands. "I was just getting him warmed up," he protested. "Would've left you the best bit."

"Fucking shut up, the pair of you," Lenny shouted. "I didn't come all the way up here just to see your tits, Lestrade. You need to tell these ponces on the phone how nice we're being to you."

"Lie, you mean," Lestrade sneered.

Lenny leaned over menacingly. "You've still got both your bollocks, don't you? That counts as nice in my book."

"Point taken."

Lenny stabbed at the buttons on Lestrade's phone and held it up between his head and Lestrade's.

The phone was answered by a voice Lestrade didn't recognise. "Hello? Lenny?"

"Yeah. It's me - and I've got someone here to say hi." He kicked Lestrade's shin.

" _Agh_. H-Hello? This is D.I. Lestrade."

"Lestrade, my name's Tom Harper. Can you confirm you are unhurt?"

"Little scuffed round the edges, but yeah, I'm alright."

Lenny straightened up and took the phone off speaker. "There - happy now? You know we've got him and you know he's still in one piece." He moved towards the door but gestured for Nipper and John to stay put. "Now let's talk about what you're going to give me so he stays that way..."

Nipper and John glared at each other as Lenny's voice faded down the corridor. Nipper walked slowly across the room towards John, cracking his knuckles.

John pointed at him with the shiv. "You just said you wanted first go. You never said I couldn't do anything else."

"Shut up! Lenny says no-one's to do anything to him without his say-so." Nipper stopped in front of Lestrade. He reached out and patted his face. "Looks like we'll all have to wait a bit longer to get your lily-white arse."

"That's a crying shame," Lestrade said. He glanced sideways at John who visibly relaxed at the news. Lestrade was willing to bet John wasn't half as relieved as he was.

"Ain't it?" Nipper looked back up at John. "Course he never said nothing about anybody else's arse, did he?" He suddenly lunged towards John and grabbed his wrist. They struggled but Nipper quickly twisted the shiv from John's hands. He pushed John back and his thighs bumped up against the edge of the table standing along the wall.

Nipper loomed over him. "So... you gonna turn round and play nice or do we have to do this the _fun_ way?"


	12. Chapter 12

Nipper didn't even wait for John to answer before he started trying to flip him over onto his front.

John had received extensive training in unarmed combat but he was at a serious disadvantage. Not only did Nipper have him in an awkward position, bent backwards over a table, but he was at least six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than John - and he knew every trick in the book.

John punched, kicked, wriggled, tried to get any sort of leverage, even just a firm grasp of Nipper's shirt, but to no avail. He gasped in pain as Nipper finally managed to turn him face down and wrenched his arm up behind his back.

Nipper's other hand tugged at John's jeans and pants, brutally ripping them down off his hips. "Let's show the pig what he's getting later, eh?" Nipper stopped suddenly and said, "What you hiding down here then?"

John felt his blood run cold. He grunted and renewed his struggling as Nipper grabbed the visitors pass from where John had tucked it down the back of his underpants.

"Fucking... what? I knew there was something dodgy about you!" Nipper threw the pass across the room. "You fucking lying little shit! I'm gonna have your arse so hard!" 

"OI!"

Nipper and John both turned at the sound of a shout behind them, in perfect time for Nipper's face to meet the chair Lestrade was swinging at his head.

Nipper staggered sideways with the impact, collided with the wall and slid down it onto his knees. Blood gushed from his nose down the front of his shirt. He shook his head and blinked rapidly; dazed, but not out.

John instantly leapt on him and smacked his head off the wall. The big man slumped to the ground and went still.

John pulled his trousers up with a wince.

"You OK?" Lestrade asked, hesitantly.

"Yeah. Just a bit sore. No big deal," John replied. 

Lestrade was still holding what was left of the chair and seemed a bit surprised that his initial blow hadn't knocked Nipper clean out. "I probably shouldn't have enjoyed that quite so much," he said with a manic grin.

"If it had been me, I wouldn't have stopped hitting him when he went down - and I'd've enjoyed every second," John admitted. He held his hand out. "Shirt."

"What?"

"Give me your shirt."

Lestrade dropped the chair and tugged the material off the one wrist from which it was now hanging.

John rolled Nipper over onto his front and used the shirt to secure Nipper's hands behind his back. After a moment's consideration he also stripped off Nipper's socks and shoes and used the laces to tie his ankles together and hogtie them to his wrists.

Once he was happy Nipper wasn't going anywhere, he checked the blossoming bruises on Nipper's head from both blows.

"How is he?" Lestrade asked.

"He'll live." John carefully turned Nipper's head so he could breathe.

"Pity."

John got to his feet but a sudden pain in his leg made him stumble awkwardly.

Lestrade's arms shot out under John's shoulders to catch him. "Whoa. You sure you're OK?"

"Yeah. 'm fine. Just... give me a minute." John put one hand out against Lestrade's chest to steady himself. Despite the blood, sweat and dirt, Lestrade's natural scent and the warmth radiating from his bare skin was surprisingly comforting and reassuring. 

John closed his eyes and allowed himself a brief moment to enjoy the feeling of being held, something he'd not had in far too long. Lestrade would hopefully think he was just getting his breath back - intead of what he was actually doing; wishing he could snuggle in a bit further and stay there for a day or two.

Christ, that had been too close for comfort. If things had gone differently... What if Nipper had had some mates with him? What if they'd checked Lestrade's hands? They could have both been fucked - in every sense of the word.

And Lestrade had _willingly_ risked all of that happening to him by coming back here. 

John lifted his head to look at Lestrade's face as that thought fully hit him - and found himself staring right into those big brown eyes from far closer than ever before - and only inches away from that _very_ kissable mouth...


	13. Chapter 13

Lestrade held John tightly and hoped the younger man thought his racing pulse and flushed skin was from the fight - as John's must be. Granted none of the occasional fantasies he had entertained of finding his arms full of Doctor John Watson had _quite_ been like this, but who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? Especially if it had a mouth like that...

John suddenly looked up at him, wide-eyed, giving Lestrade the horrible feeling he'd just had his mind read or something.

"You're a total nutter, you know?" John said. "Volunteering to come back like that. I don't know if I'd call that incredibly brave or the stupidest thing I've ever seen."

Lestrade shrugged. "You're one to talk, _Johnno_."

John blushed ( _adorably_ ). "Christ, Greg. I'm sorry about all that."

"No problem. At least I didn't have to try very hard to look shit-scared. You deserve a bloody Oscar for that performance."

"Yeah, funny - I never really got into amateur dramatics 'til I started hanging round with Sherlock. Seems to come with the territory."

" _Everybody's_ dramatics are amateur compared to Sherlock's," Lestrade said.

John giggled - high-pitched, like a schoolboy who'd just heard a dirty joke.

Lestrade felt the vibrations of it go straight through him and it was such an incongruous sound given the situation, he found himself chuckling at John's giggle.

John snorted at Lestrade's chuckle - and seconds later the pair of them were laughing almost uncontrollably, wiping tears from their eyes and trying - and failing miserably - to shush each other while staying upright.

Lestrade's ribs ached with every breath but the release of laughter felt cleansing and cathartic after the constant stress of the past few hours.

"Oh God..." Lestrade said when he got his breath back. "I almost _genuinely_ believed you wanted to have your wicked way with me." He looked down at John; his formerly white t-shirt was grimy with blood and dirt and clinging damply to his chest; his skin was flushed and glowing with sweat; his hair was ruffled in every direction and he was grinning so hard he looked like his face might split in two. He looked so different from how Lestrade was used to seeing him - he looked a bit... _dangerous_ \- and sexy as hell. 

"Not that I'd've minded," Lestrade added - and he dipped his head and kissed him.

John instantly jerked backwards, looking stunned, as if he'd just been burned. "Greg? What--?"

"Oh, shit!" Lestrade backed off and held his hands up. "Sorry, John. I'm... I'm _really_ sorry. I... That was totally... _Fuck!_ I... I don't know what I was thinking. I would _never_... I mean it's been a crazy day and I guess my head's still messed up but that's no excuse and--"

John put his hands on Lestrade's shoulders. "Greg. Breathe. It's OK. I was just surprised. I didn't know you were... um... y'know..."

"Really? I don't exactly advertise it but I thought Sherlock might've let something slip."

"No, he didn't."

"Oh... well... yeah. Sorry, John. Batting for the other team. Have been for a good long while. Nipper would've been about thirty years too late to get my arse for the first time."

"Right." John's posture was still very defensive.

Lestrade frowned. "Doesn't change anything, does it? I mean I'll never do that again - I was..."

"No! No, of course it doesn't." John flashed him a quick smile - a genuine one - and his spine lost some of its stiffness. "Well yes, sort of. I suppose, while we're sharing, now might be a good time to mention that I, uh... have been known to play for both sides, as it were."

"Oh... _Oh!_ I, um... right. I thought... I mean, I've only ever seen you out with girls. Huh... So, are you and Sherlock...?"

"No! God, no!" John said quickly. "I mean yes, he's gorgeous but he's _mental_... And he's not interested. 'Married to his work' apparently."

"Oh, you got that line too?"

"Yeah - but at least I know if he turned you down, he's _clearly_ got no sex drive."

Lestrade felt his face flush at the compliment. He ducked his head to try and hide it. "Yeah, well, it was a few years ago now."

John put his hand under Lestrade's chin and tipped it back up. "And as for what you just did - I'll be really disappointed if you never do it again."

"Well if I'd known whacking blokes with chairs turned you on that much..."

"Shut up, you idiot. You know full well what I meant."

"Yeah... but maybe now's not the best time to discuss it?"

"Good point." John dug out his phone again. "Let's get the drama queen to find us a way out of here before Lenny comes back."

There was a low groan from the figure at their feet.

"Or Sleeping Beauty awakes," Lestrade said with a frown...


	14. Chapter 14

"...Sorry, sir. Fisher's already said he's going to fetch him..." Whatever Roberts said next was lost as Sherlock threw the phone down on the seat beside him in a fit of pique.

Damn!

Sherlock's fingers moved at lightning speed over the keypad of his own phone.

_Fisher coming to get Lestrade to talk to negotiator - SH_

He expected another text in reply so when his phone rang, he almost dropped it in his haste to answer.

"Sherlock."

After the shock of having someone other than Lestrade answer the D.I.'s phone, it was a relief to hear John's voice.

"Got your message. We're on our own so talking's quicker. Anywhere we can go from here?"

Sherlock closed his eyes. Yes, he had it now. A perfect 3D model of the prison spun and tilted and twisted in his minds eye. "Not really, I'm afraid. This would be almost academic if you'd exited the rec room to the South but--"

"Yeah, well, we _didn't_ go out the South door, we came out the North one," John snapped. "Seriously? Nowhere?"

"No, there are no exits from that part of the building. It's all shower blocks, toilets, laundry.."

John interrupted him but his comment wasn't directed at Sherlock. "Shut up, Greg. Not an option. "

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at that. Whenever he spoke to Lestrade in that tone John always gave him a look.

"Sherlock, for fuck's sake - give me something, _anything_."

Sherlock wondered what Lestrade's suggestion had been. The fact he'd had one at all was surprising. Sherlock just could not see a way to an exit from their current position.

Hearing only half of the conversation on the other end was incredibly irritating, especially when John suddenly blurted out "What? Greg, you can't-- Greg!"

_What's the idiot done now?_ Sherlock thought. "John - has Lestrade gone back into the rec room?"

"No, he's heading upstairs to meet them, the set of stairs to the right... Any rooms we can reach from this end?"

"Yes, there's a room with a door out of sight of the top of the other stairs. First on the right and the room is on the left."

"Yeah... Right... Gotcha. Ok - back to silent." There was a click as John disconnected the call and, presumably, headed after Lestrade.

Sherlock had no idea how they'd managed to make it away from Fisher in the first place and therefore no idea how plausible they could make their return.

Even if Fisher bought whatever story they concocted it would mean Lestrade would be back in his not-so-tender care and John would only stand by for so long if he thought Lestrade was at risk of serious injury.

Sherlock thankfully had no time to brood further on his concern for John and Lestrade's safety as the car pulled up at a nondescript office building. He was hustled into the control room, introduced to Harper and Roberts and shown to a desk with a laptop.

The screen showed a top down map view of the prison and - probably thanks to Mycroft, Sherlock grudgingly admitted - two dots showing the location of both John and Lestrade's mobile phones, coloured red and blue respectively. They were both in the upstairs interview room Sherlock had directed them to - which meant they'd met back up with Fisher.

When Harper's phone rang seconds later it was all Sherlock could do not to leap across the room and snatch it from the man's hands.

Harper directed him to another handset which Sherlock picked up and covered with his hand as Harper answered.

"Hello? Lenny?"

Fisher's voice was less distinct than before - speakerphone. "Yeah. It's me - and I've got someone here to say hi." There was a dull thud and a short yelp of pain.

" _Agh!_ H-Hello? This is D.I. Lestrade."

_Are you alright? Where is John? Is he alright?_ Sherlock gnawed at his lip.

"Lestrade, my name's Tom Harper. Can you confirm you are unhurt?"

"Little scuffed round the edges, but yeah, I'm alright." Lestrade sounded weary beyond belief but his voice was steady.

There was a click on the line as Fisher took the phone off speaker. "There - happy now? You know we've got him and you know he's still in one piece. Now let's talk about what you're going to give me so he stays that way."

_No mention of John. They must still think he's one of them. Fisher would have gloated about it otherwise. He must be safe. He must be..._

The blue dot of Lestrade's phone moved out from the interview room and down the corridor. Sherlock stared at the red dot on the screen so hard it almost felt as though he was somehow creating it with the force of his gaze. It buzzed around the lines marking the room on the overlay like an agitated insect. John was usually so still under stress - something else must be going on.

Assuming that even was John - the dot was not him, it was his phone. Did he still have it? Was he still with Lestrade? Was anyone else there?

Sherlock paced back and forth across the control room like a caged animal. No - he needed to think. He pushed some papers aside, ignored the shouts of annoyance that garnered him and lay down on top of one of the tables. 

Better. 

He closed his eyes, steepled his fingers under his chin and went back to the maps. Exits to non-inmate controlled areas or outside - all inaccessible. Not a traditional exit then. Over the wall? Required access to the exercise yard through the rec room - and the wall was thirty feet high.

No, wait - he rotated the model in his head - the laundry block was a single story building that butted up against the wall. If they could get out onto the roof and across it, they would have a far shorter climb over the wall to safety. That might be a possibility...

But Lestrade was back in Fisher's hands and he had no idea where John was or what condition either of them were truly in, so he waited, endlessly spinning the ghostly outline of the prison in his head, trying route after route after...

His phone rang.

Sherlock sat bolt upright and whipped it open.

"Hello?"

"Sherlock."

"John! How are you? Are you alright? And Lestrade?"

"We're... yeah, we're alright, actually. Look, we need a way out. Greg's just laid out Lenny's right hand man and he could wake up or Lenny could come back any minute."

"Turn left out of your door, back across the stair landing where you came up and down the other corridor on this floor. All the way to the end."

"Gotcha."

Sherlock called over Roberts. "Watson and Lestrade have escaped. They're here. I'm going to try and guide them over the roof here to the wall." He traced the way on the plan on his laptop screen. "Can you get some men on the other side of that wall to assist?"

"Yep. Better get them to turn off the electric fencing as well."

"You think so?" Sherlock snapped sarcastically. "A diversion would be good too. Ask Harper to keep Fisher distracted from his hostage. Is there any way we can persuade him to stay in the rec room?"

"We're about to deliver some food and water. He'll want to be there for that to make sure we don't try any funny business."

"Perfect." Sherlock turned back to his phone. "John - are you there yet?"

"Just got there," John panted. "Now what?"

"Look out of the window on the end wall. You should see the roof of the laundry block."

"Roger that."

"In a few minutes time, when the prisoners are distracted by a food delivery, you and Lestrade are going to cross that roof to the wall. You'll be helped over from the other side. Will you be able to manage that?"

"Yeah - apart from one small problem."

"What?"

"The window doesn't open..."


	15. Chapter 15

Lestrade crouched down next to Nipper as John punched the buttons on his phone.

Nipper's eyes groggily blinked open. He struggled against his bonds and breathed heavily through his mouth.

From the shape of his nose Lestrade guessed it was probably broken. "Hello, Nipper.”

“You a fuckin’ dead ma’, Le’trade - you an' dat li’l fucka dere.”

Yep – definitely broken.

“Word of advice, Nipper - that ‘little fucker’ is a harder man than you could ever hope to be and he doesn’t have to follow nearly so many rules as I do. Come after me if you like but I would leave him well enough alone.”

Behind them John spoke urgently into his phone, presumably to Sherlock.

“I’m gonna ged you fo' dis, you filth,” Nipper growled.

Lestrade slapped Nipper’s cheek. “Behave. I was going to gag you with your socks but since your nose is bust, that means I can’t. God forbid you choke on them and I miss seeing you sent down for a few extra years for your antics today." Lestrade dropped his voice. "Now, you _could_ yell for help when we leave, but you never know who’s in earshot and I bet there’s more than a few folk in here would _love_ to find you tied up for them like this."

Nipper kept quiet and Lestrade could see him giving that some thought.

"Gotcha… Greg, come on!" John tugged at Lestrade’s shoulder.

“Coming.” Lestrade stood up. He checked behind him that John had already exited the room before he aimed a swift toe-poke at Nipper’s groin – not hard, but accurate. “That’s for John, you bastard.”

Nipper tried to curl up on himself but the way he was hogtied made it nearly impossible.

Lestrade smiled grimly as he ducked back into the corridor. He half-expected to hear Nipper start shouting right away but there was no noise as he followed John. They dashed past the stairs they’d originally come up, through another door, down a long corridor and into the room at the very end. They left the door open so they could see back up the corridor.

John ran with the mobile phone practically glued to his ear but he didn’t speak until they were completely into the small empty room. “Just got there… Now what?” John asked.

Lestrade watched John as he walked over to the window and looked out.

“Roger that… Yeah, apart from one small problem – the window doesn’t open… Yes, I'm sure! It's a fitted window - it doesn't open."

Lestrade tugged John's sleeve to get his attention. "What's up?"

"Sherlock says the prisoners will be distracted by food arriving shortly. If we can get out onto that roof and get over to the foot of the wall they can chuck some ropes over to us and haul us out."

"How long have we got?"

"Sherlock?" John asked. He paused then relayed the answer. "Five minutes."

Lestrade looked at the window then around the small room they were in. "Right – tell him we'll be at that wall in five minutes."

"We will?"

"Yeah. I've had more than enough of this place. Tell them to expect us."

"OK. You got that, Sherlock? Right. See you soon." John hung up and put the phone back in his pocket. “So – what’s the plan?”

“We go out through the window.”

“Which part of ‘doesn’t open’ did you--?”

“No, John,” Lestrade interrupted him. “ _Through_ the window.”

John frowned at him then realization dawned and his face broke into a broad grin. “Ohhh. Of course. God, no wonder Sherlock says I’m stupid.”

“Sherlock says everybody’s stupid. Besides, I’m quite glad your first instinct isn’t ‘wanton destruction of property’ – shows character.”

“Now you’re just mocking me.” John put his hands on his hips and pouted.

Lestrade punched his arm. “And you’re pulling faces that are gonna get you snogged again – stop it.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” John teased.

“’Cause I’m having a hard enough time keeping my hands off you as it is, you tart…. and we need to find something heavy to chuck through that window. It’s strengthened glass.”

“Chair?”

“Table or desk would be better.”

"I suppose Nipper is out of the question?"

“Tempting but no. You check the rooms on the left. I’ll take the right.”

John found a collapsible metal table propped against the wall in the first room he looked in. They brought it through to the end room and set it beside the window. John looked out of the window, anxiously scanning the top of the wall and checking his phone every so often to keep an eye on the time.

Lestrade stood beside him, leaning back against the wall and kept watch back up the corridor – when he wasn’t sneaking glances at John. They'd slipped into comfortable flirting so easily. He couldn't remember the last time he'd just clicked with someone like that. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. Fuck it - nothing ventured… "Don't suppose you, er, fancy going out some time - if we get out of here, I mean."

"Why do I think you're only asking 'cause you think there's not much chance of that happening?"

"Might be," Lestrade admitted. "Is that a no?"

"Not at all. _When_ we get out of here, you are going to take me out for dinner to say thank you for being such a convincing convict."

Lestrade grinned in relief. "Deal. What do you fancy? Chinese? Italian? Indian?"

"I'll let you choose if you're paying."

"If I'm paying, I'll expect you to put out afterwards."

John turned to him in mock surprise. "On a first date? I'm shocked you think I’m that kind of girl, Detective Inspector."

Their mutual laughter was interrupted by John’s phone. Lestrade saw the smile vanish; John’s business face was back.

“Time to go,” he said…


	16. Chapter 16

Sherlock flicked his attention back and forth between the two long-range cameras he’d managed to find with a view of the laundry roof. He was only peripherally aware of the bustle going on around him.

Harper was still talking soothingly to Fisher, promising no tricks, no weapons, no drugs in the food – anything to keep him focused on what was going on right in front of him and not what was happening out the back.

Sherlock kept his eyes riveted on the screen, knowing if he lost concentration for a second he might very well miss something vital.

It wasn't "the longest five minutes” of Sherlock’s life. They were exactly the same length as every other minute, no more, no less. To suggest otherwise was just ludicrous. They were however five minutes (and thirty seven seconds) filled with considerably more anxiety, guilt, frustration and nervous expectation than Sherlock was used to. He despised waiting - for anything. He especially despised waiting for other people to act when the safety of his friends was in question. He'd already found out exactly how “not good” it was when one of them was threatened. Now he’d discovered that knowing two of them were in danger didn’t just make it twice as bad – the “not good” scale turned out to be more of an exponential function. It was utterly intolerable – as was the cacophony of noise coming from the others in the control centre.

> “OK – they’re going in with the food now…”
> 
>     “Is Fisher there?”
> 
> “Approaching doors… No sign of anyone… wait… Doors opening. Two men coming out. Delivery team have dropped the food and are backing off...”
> 
>     “Yeah, he’s there, that’s him just inside the door.”
> 
> “Any ID on those two collecting the food? Somebody get me some IDs!”
> 
>     “Looks like they’re using some kind of metal bars to brace the doors, not going to break those in a hurry.”
> 
> “They’re taking the food...”
> 
>     “Must be at least 80 of them in that hall.”
> 
> “Coming back out for the water…”

Sherlock hardly dared blink. _Come on John – that’s been five minutes. Where’s that military precision of--_

The second floor window above the laundry roof exploded outwards in a shower of glass…

* * *

“Time to go.” John sighed as he put his phone away; the five minutes were up. Pity, he’d been enjoying the flirting. Hopefully they could pick up again later where they left off.

“Right.”

The table was lying flat on the floor with the folded legs facing upwards. They stood facing each other on either side of it, with the window on John’s right and Lestrade’s left.

They crouched down and picked up the table so it was lengthways horizontally between them. Lestrade sucked in a sharp breath at the movement.

"OK?" John asked hastily. How could he have forgotten about Lestrade's ribs and back? His torso was covered in glorious shades of blue and purple, several of them showing the distinct pattern of the footwear that had applied them.

"Yeah. 'm fine."

John was surprised to see a broad grin on Lestrade's face. For all his cuts and bruises Lestrade looked like he was actually quite enjoying himself.

“Nice to misbehave a little, isn’t it?” John remarked.

“Oh yeah, takes me right back to my mis-spent youth.”

John had a sudden vision of Lestrade as a teenage bad boy – it was a very appealing thought. "I bet you were a right tearaway, weren't you?"

Lestrade just grinned wider and raised an eyebrow. "You have _no_ idea. Tell you later. Ready?"

"On three?"

Lestrade nodded. "One... Two... THREE!"

The table crashed through the window and landed with a clatter on the laundry roof.  John stuck his head out of the window and shielded his eyes against the bright sunlight to check their landing spot was clear. The air outside was almost as stifling as that inside but there was a very welcome hint of a breeze.

John looked back into the room. Lestrade's left arm was tucked to his side and he was breathing heavily through gritted teeth.

"Greg--" John stepped back and moved towards him.

Lestrade gestured to the window with his other hand. "After you, Dr Watson, I insist.”

"Greg, I really think--"

"John." Lestrade cut him off before continuing quietly, "I'd like you there to catch me. Please."

“Alright... Just a sec.” John kicked out as much of the remaining glass on the bottom of the window as he could. He hurriedly stripped off what was left of his t-shirt, folded it and laid it across the window sill to protect his hands and knees from the rest of the glass. He clambered out onto the ledge, shuffled round on his toes, gripped the sill and let his body drape down the side of the building. From there it was just a short drop to the roof and he easily absorbed the impact with his knees.

He made sure the table was well clear as Lestrade lowered himself out of the window and let go.

Lestrade landed awkwardly and stumbled backwards. John caught him under his shoulders to stop him falling.

“OK?” John asked. 

“Never better,” Lestrade replied as he turned round and straightened up. He froze as his eyes traveled across John’s now bare chest. His face flushed and he quickly looked away.

John had forgotten Lestrade had never seen his shoulder scar before. _Bet you can keep your hands off me now_ , he thought bitterly.

The wall was about 100 feet away. John noticed a tiny surveillance camera on a pole peering over the top directly across from them.

“Looks like our lift is here.” He pointed to the camera.

“I hope it is a lift and not a climb. Don’t think I’ll have the energy for that," Lestrade said. "Come on.”

They both made their way across the roof in a fast crouching jog...


	17. Chapter 17

Sherlock watched as one figure then another dropped out through the smashed window onto the roof. They paused for a moment then started jogging across to the wall.

Harper meanwhile was frantically blagging on the phone to Fisher. "What? No, Lenny, we're not trying to break in - I swear. I don't know what that noise was."

From this distance and in the bright light it was hard to distinguish John's blond hair from Lestrade's grey. Only the difference in height and gait when they started moving told Sherlock which was which. He tried several different cameras but couldn't get a clearer picture until he switched to the view from the rescue team's camera on top of the wall. They were just as far from that camera as the others but at least it was the one they were running _towards_.

Sherlock felt a little of his tension easing as the two figures drew nearer. He even risked a small smile until, as they came more clearly into focus, he was able to make out the bruises to their bodies and the state of their clothing. _What on earth have they been up to in there - and where are their shirts?_

The man next to him was watching a reverse angle back towards the main building. He suddenly exclaimed, "Some prisoners have come out into the yard... They've spotted our boys on the roof!"

"Shit!" Roberts swore. He barked into his radio, "Retrieval team - get those ropes over, NOW!"

"Lenny? Listen, can you--? What? No, we're not... Wait - Lenny!" Harper shrugged his shoulders. "He hung up - someone's tipped him off. Can we track him?"

"Yes." Sherlock still had the overlay showing John and Lestrade's phone locations on his screen. The red dot of John's phone approached the foot of the wall and stopped. Sherlock and Harper watched as the blue dot of Lestrade's phone sped up the stairs, briefly stopped in the room where Lestrade had been held and then carried on down the corridor to the room John and Lestrade had just exited...

* * *

Lestrade leaned his hand against the wall as they reached it but immediately snatched it back. The bricks had been getting the full glare of the sun all day and were burning hot to the touch. The heat was also radiating off the flat tarmac and gravel roof under his feet. He screwed up his eyes and rubbed at his forehead. His eyes felt tired and gritty and his mouth was parched. His head was already throbbing from the beating it had received earlier; the additional one it was getting now from the oppressive atmosphere was not helping in the slightest.

A whispering sound followed by several soft thumps signaled a number of ropes flying over the wall and landing beside them. Each had a broad loop of webbing secured at the end. John and Lestrade both quickly grabbed a rope each and pulled the loop over their heads and under their shoulders.

"You OK?" John asked him.

"Yeah, could murder a pint though," Lestrade rasped.

"Oh God, yes. First round is definitely--"

"LESTRADE!!"

Both their heads snapped round at the yell behind them in time to see Lenny Fisher practically throw himself out of the window they'd just come through. He dropped to the roof, scrambled upright and started sprinting towards them.

Lestrade's eyes met John's and in almost perfect unison they both uttered a heartfelt, " _Fuck_."

They each gave their rope several sharp tugs. The ropes pulled taut and started lifting them up the wall. Two men appeared at the top, guiding the ropes and yelling encouragement.

Lestrade tried to ignore the pounding sound of Lenny's rapid approach and the shouts from the yard below them. He kept his gaze fixed on the hands reaching down for him, so tantalizingly close; easy does it, just a few more feet...

He heard the roar beneath him a split second before two broad arms wrapped themselves around his legs. The sudden added weight jerked him right through the makeshift harness. All the breath was knocked from him as he tumbled to the ground and fell onto his back, smacking his head off the roof. His vision blurred for a second and when it cleared it was to the very unwelcome sight of Lenny leaning over him, his face twisted with rage and one meaty fist clutching Nipper's shiv...


	18. Chapter 18

Sherlock had a perfect view as Fisher ran across the roof and took a flying jump at Lestrade’s legs. He wrapped his arms around Lestrade's thighs and Lestrade's body dropped through the harness like a stone.

Fisher let go of Lestrade as he fell and twisted his body, so while Lestrade landed hard and flat on his back, Fisher was able to break his fall and get back up onto his knees quicker.

"No!" Sherlock was astonished to hear the involuntary exclamation and realise it had been his. He clamped his jaw shut and gripped the sides of the computer monitor to stop his hands doing anything so pathetic as flying to his mouth - or worse, covering his eyes - which was what they seemed to want to do.

Fisher reached into the back of his waistband and brought his fist back round clenched tight around something. He scrambled over on top of Lestrade, straddling his waist. His free hand grabbed Lestrade's throat and squeezed as he thrust what was undoubtedly a makeshift weapon towards Lestrade's chest...

* * *

Lestrade saw it coming and grabbed the hand holding the shiv in both of his in a desperate attempt to keep it from reaching his body. He twisted his hips and kicked his knees up into Lenny's back but it had little effect. Spots started dancing in front of his eyes as the lack of air took its toll. Any second now his arms would fail and Lenny would bury that blade in his heart. Bloody shame after he'd just remembered what it was for...

* * *

"What the hell's _he_ up to?" Harper pointed to the other screen. Sherlock's eyes flicked over towards the view showing the wall - which now held _two_ empty ropes...

* * *

Lenny suddenly released his choke-hold and started trying to pull the shiv _away_.

Lestrade gasped in a lungful of air and looked up to find Lenny was now in a choke-hold of his own, courtesy of (fucking _gorgeous_ mini-hardman) John Watson. John's left arm was wrapped tightly around Lenny's neck and braced in the crook of his right arm, applying pressure directly to Lenny's windpipe.

John was holding on for dear life as Lenny's empty hand flailed around trying to grab John's hair. John ducked away from it, gritted his teeth and readjusted his grip. His face was going red with effort; Lenny's was going purple.

Lestrade grabbed Lenny's other hand and instead of pushing it away as before, held onto it, even pulling it back towards his chest, to stop Lenny getting at John with the blade.

Finally, after what felt like hours but could only have really been a few minutes, Lenny's movements became slower. His arms gradually drooped and fell to his sides, his eyes closed and his body went slack. The shiv fell from his hand and he fell over unconscious on top of Lestrade with John's arm still firmly round his neck...

* * *

Sherlock emphatically did _not_ let out anything even remotely resembling a 'whoop'. Anyone who later claimed otherwise was clearly suffering from a faulty memory of events...

* * *

"You can let go now, John," Lestrade wheezed from under Lenny's bulk.

"Not sure I can actually," John panted back. "Can you uncurl my fingers?"

Lestrade reached up and prised John's left hand away from where it had locked in position around his right biceps. He'd made several deep bruises in his own arm from holding on so tight. Lestrade swore he was going to kiss them better later - and then move on to every other inch of John's body.

"Thanks." John stood up, flexed his fingers and arms and rolled Lenny's body off of Lestrade's. He extended a hand to Lestrade.

Lestrade pulled himself upright and, using his forward momentum, grabbed John in a huge hug. "You idiot! You could have been safely over that wall by now - but I'm bloody glad you're not!"

"Couldn't leave you behind, Greg... You owe me dinner." John grinned.

A few stones and a mug sailed over their heads from the yard below. John broke free from Lestrade's embrace and whirled around. "Come on." He grabbed his rope which had been lowered back to the roof.

"Right... Oh - wait a mo'" Lestrade went back to Lenny and pulled his phone and wallet out of Lenny's pockets. "I'll take these back, thanks." He shoved them in his own pockets, went back to the rope, got it firmly under his arms and tugged it.

They both swung up the wall again. The hail of missiles from below tailed off as police in riot gear stormed into the yard and the prisoners turned to face them.

Seconds later they were scrambling over the top of the wall with helping hands guiding them into a basket crane raised on the other side. Lestrade draped his arm over John's shoulders as they stood pressed together on the small platform while it was slowly lowered to the ground. To his delight John reciprocated by putting his arm around Lestrade's waist. 

It felt good to finally be getting out of that hell-hole. It felt even better to be doing it like this...


	19. Chapter 19

John and Lestrade stepped from the crane's basket almost as soon as it touched the ground. They were met by a loud chorus of cheers and applause from the crowd of emergency personnel gathered there. Several people shook their hands or patted them on the back as they exchanged bewildered glances with each other.

They were led through the crowd over to two ambulances parked side-by-side where a couple of paramedics were waiting to tend to their injuries. Lestrade sat on the back step of one and John the other while they were checked over.

Lestrade had done this more times than he cared to remember so he sat quietly and let the man inspecting him do his job. He grinned as he heard John grumbling at the other young man trying to patch a cut on his forehead. Must be true what they say about doctors making the worst patients...

"Can you keep your head still and follow my finger with your eyes, please?" the paramedic asked Lestrade.

Lestrade directed his attention back to the man in front of him and did as requested.

"Great, thanks... Must say we were relieved you two were still fit enough to walk. We didn't really know what state you'd be in. I bet some of the others won't be as lucky."

"The others?"

"Yeah - now you two are out they've sent in the big boys to break up the riot. We'll be dealing with more than a few cracked heads later, I bet!"

Lestrade looked around as the paramedic started tidying away his things again. "Have you got a spare shirt or something?" he asked.

"No, sorry. Could give you a blanket?"

"A blanket?" Lestrade laughed. "It's 200 degrees out here and you're offering me a blanket?"

"All I've got, sorry."

"Never mind then. Am I OK to have something to drink?"

"Well there's no sign of concussion or any other serious injuries but we'll probably keep you in overnight for observation so.."

"Sod that!" Lestrade swore. He stood up and strode over to a nearby table where large coolers filled with bottles of water were laid out for the emergency personnel. He grabbed two bottles and then headed back to the other ambulance. He looked at the other paramedic - who nodded - and then offered one to John. "Here."

John took the bottle as Lestrade sat down beside him. "Thanks. I'm gasping." He cracked the seal and bumped the base of his plastic bottle against Lestrade's. "Cheers - and no, this doesn't count as you getting me a drink, you tight git."

They both laughed but their laughter was choked off as a sudden commotion over to the side startled them. They only relaxed when they saw the cause of the disturbance - Sherlock insistently pushing his way through the crowd.

He practically ran over to them and then came to a halt as if he was embarrassed to be seen showing such concern. "Ah. John.. Lestrade..." he said. "I, er... I just wanted to check... that you're... I mean, you're both..."

"We're fine, Sherlock," John said.

"Good. That's... good. Yes."

"You couldn't have known this would happen today, Sherlock. It's OK," Lestrade added.

"Of course I couldn't! Don't be so dim, Lestrade," Sherlock snapped.

"And there's the Sherlock we know and love." Lestrade chuckled and John joined him.

"Did you talk to Williams?" Sherlock asked.

John shook his head. "Never got the chance - but since you're here now, perhaps you could pop in yourself. I'm sure he's not busy."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the overwhelming stupidity of John, Lestrade and the whole of Western civilization. "Obviously I can't do that, but I would like to stay here until I can ascertain what's happened to him."

"We can only hope he's still fit enough for an intensive grilling on former cell-mates pets." John winked at Lestrade.

Sherlock caught the gesture and his eyes narrowed as he looked from John to Lestrade and back again. "Something's different... You two..."

"...are very tired and a bit grubby and we'd like to go home now, Sherlock," Lestrade finished for him. He turned to John. "I'd offer you a lift but my car keys are in my jacket pocket so I guess we won't be seeing them again any time soon."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're in no shape to drive," Sherlock snapped. "I'll find someone to take you. Wait here." He hurried off, seemingly satisfied they were both none the worse for their ordeal.

Lestrade knew better. He'd bet his pension John hadn't mentioned Nipper's assault to the paramedic and even if it hadn't done too much physical damage, things like that could come back to you mentally and emotionally much later. He felt like he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. God only knew what John was feeling. He might be perfectly OK - he certainly seemed tough enough - but then again...

"I was wondering... They'll probably want someone to keep an eye on me in case of concussion - and you are a doctor..."

John smiled. "You're welcome to stay over at Baker Street. I've no idea when Sherlock will be back but... yeah - I could do with the company myself."

"Nice one. Phone out for a bite to eat- curry or something, yeah?"

John groaned with want. "That sounds like the best idea in the history of ideas. I could eat an elephant."

"Hungry work, prison breaks," Lestrade agreed and John laughed.

They sat in exhausted silence for a few minutes, finishing their water bottles until John nudged Lestrade's arm and pointed. "Looks like our lift's here."

Sherlock was standing by a large black car, waving them over.

"God, I hope Mycroft doesn't detour us for a chat right now. I may just beat him to death with that bloody brolly," Lestrade sighed.

"I suspect we both probably owe him a thank you," John replied. "But you're right - not just now. I just want to get home, get clean and have a nice hot cuppa."

"That's an even better idea than the curry... Lead on, Doc."

They walked over to the car and John clambered into the back seat.

Sherlock caught Lestrade admiring the view of John's backside and his eyes narrowed even further than they had earlier. "Lestrade..."

Lestrade held up his hand. "Sherlock, you're either going to say something stupidly selfish - which I will ignore - or you're going to tell me you're concerned for John - which I will also ignore because after today I'm thoroughly convinced John can more than look after himself."

Sherlock closed his mouth and pursed his lips.

"Thank you," Lestrade said. He ducked his head down to get into the car.

"Don't sneak up on him. He doesn't like being surprised," Sherlock suddenly offered.

Lestrade straightened back up. He nodded and said, "Thank you," again, but this time with far more warmth. He was about to get into the car again when a thought occurred. "I don't suppose you've checked if he had a license?"

"If who had a license for what?"

"The bloke with the dog. I think dog licenses weren't abolished till '88, '89. You should ask Anderson if he found one in that flat."

Sherlock blinked and then shook his head. "There's always something... Thank you, Lestrade."

"You're welcome." Lestrade was certain his grin couldn't have got any wider. It was only very rarely he got one over on Sherlock - and now he was about to join John on what looked like a very _spacious_ back seat...


	20. Chapter 20

John looked at Lestrade curiously when he finally joined him inside the car and the door slammed shut behind him. "What was that all about?"

"Just Sherlock being... well, Sherlock, I suppose," Lestrade conceded.

"So he's staying here?"

"For now."

John glanced backwards through the car's rear window as they started to pull away. "I hope he doesn't decide to wander off on his own if he gets more info - neither of us are in any fit state to go chasing after him."

Lestrade slumped against the seat and let his head flop back onto the soft leather. "I think Big Brother is keeping an eye out. Sherlock would never have got access to that command centre and the maps and stuff on his own - no matter how charming he was."

"Of course. Still..."

Lestrade lolled his head to one side to look at John. "He'll be fine. Stop worrying about everybody else - how are _you_?"

"Me? I'm fine. Just cuts and bruises. You took a much worse beating than I did." John's voice sounded casual enough but he turned his body away from Lestrade to look out of the window beside him.

Lestrade had been right; the back seat was very spacious - it suddenly felt like a vast chasm had opened between him and John. "John, I was there, remember?"

"Honestly, Greg, I'm fine. I just want to get home, take a long hot shower and put today behind me."

"Well, if you're sure..."

"Yeah... but thanks."

"No problem."

Lestrade scratched his head and then turned to look out the window on his side of the car. His focus shifted from the passing streets to his own reflection and then to the slightly more blurred reflection of John's hunched back behind him.

_So much for that idea then. I guess all that flirting was just a heat of the moment thing. Looks like he's regretting it now..._

The awkward silence persisted until the car pulled up at Baker Street. It wasn't until they were crossing the thresh-hold of 221B that John cleared his throat and said, "I'll stick the kettle on, yeah?"

"No, I'll do that. You go get that shower you've been looking forward to. You'll feel much better for it."

John hesitated, torn between his duties as a host and his desire to get clean.

"Go on," Lestrade prompted. "Nothing in that fridge is going to shock me."

"Ok, I'll only be five minutes."

"Take your time," Lestrade called as he headed into the kitchen and John disappeared upstairs.

He busied himself with getting the beverages sorted, then sat at the table and sipped at his own mug while John's cooled on the counter. It was a very strange feeling to be sitting on his own in a sweltering hot 221B, half-naked and drinking tea - but then it had been a bizarre day all round.

John appeared a few minutes later in white t-shirt and boxers, rubbing at his hair with a towel. He swigged a mouthful of tea and let out an appreciative sigh. " _Ohhh_ , God, that's good."

"Yeah..." Lestrade agreed, trying not to stare too obviously at John's legs. "Listen, have you got a top I could borrow? Can't exactly catch a ride home looking like this."

John looked surprised and also a little disappointed - or was that just Lestrade's wishful thinking? "I thought you were staying for a bit?"

"No, I should..." Lestrade jerked his head towards the stairs. "Need to get cleaned up myself."

"You're welcome to use the shower here. I'm sure I can find you some sports kit or something to get changed into."

"You sure? I don't exactly have the same ex-Army physique as you, John."

"No, you don't, do you?" John snapped.

"What?"

John scowled down at his tea. "Come off it, Greg. I saw your face when you saw my shoulder."

_So that's it! He thinks I... Oh, thank Christ!_ Lestrade started to laugh but quickly swallowed it when John glared at him.

"You muppet,” Lestrade said fondly as he stood up. “I don’t give a toss about your scars." He gestured at his own body. "I mean, I can hardly talk, can I? Quite a few more miles on the clock than you, mate. The reason I got embarrassed looking at your chest was 'cause at that moment I just wanted to knock you flat on your back and start _licking_ it - and that really wasn’t the time or place."

John opened and closed his mouth a few times but all he could come up with was, "Oh."

" _This_ time and place, on the other hand, is looking better by the minute." Lestrade slipped his arm around John's waist and pulled their bodies close together. "What do you think?"

John put down his mug. "I... think you might be right."

"Can't be wrong all the time, no matter what Sherlock says."

"Let's not talk about him, eh?"

"Yeah," Lestrade ran his fingertips down John's arm, raising goosebumps as he went. "Talking is overrated anyway." He cupped the back of John's head in his hand and pulled John's mouth to his.

John wrapped his arms around Lestrade as their lips met. His hands drifted down from Lestrade's shoulder-blades to his arse and stayed there, clearly liking what they found.

Lestrade tucked his hand inside John's boxers and got a good handful of John's arse in retaliation. He used his other hand to run his fingers through John's hair, gently but thoroughly mussing it up until it was as unruly as his own.

When they both came up for air, grinning like teenagers and panting like long-distance runners John softly asked, "Sleep with me?"

Lestrade rested his forehead against John's. "Look John, I think you're sodding gorgeous and I'd be honoured if you'd let me shag your brains out..."

John laughed.

"But to be honest, it's been a hell of a day and I'm knackered."

"So _sleep_ with me," John repeated. "And then", he continued, before Lestrade could reply, "Once we've both had a good long kip, we can maybe see about you letting _me_ shag _your_ brains out?"

Lestrade grinned. "If you like - I'm easy either way."

"I think I read that on the wall of the Gents at Scotland Yard."

"Cheeky bugger."

John cocked his head to the side and wrinkled his nose. "Shower first though, yeah?"

"Yeah, I am a bit ripe! And don't get any ideas - I'll be keeping a tight grip on the soap." Lestrade slapped John's backside as he broke away and headed for the door...

* * *

The shower was glorious. Lestrade felt most of the stress in his shoulders wash down the drain along with the sweat and dirt. It was replaced by a different kind of tension - a pleasant, tingling anticipation he hadn't felt for far too long.

He dried off and used the towel to give his hair a brisk going over before wrapping it around his waist and padding through to John's room.

It was dark outside now and the only light in the room came through the open window along with the merest hint of a breeze. John was lying on the bed with his eyes closed and his hands tucked behind his head.

"Did you find me some clothes?" Lestrade asked.

"It's far too hot for clothes."

"So how come you're still wearing some?"

"Fair point." John sat up and stripped his t-shirt off, then lay on his back and shrugged his boxers down over his hips and thighs. He ended by kicking them off his feet to land somewhere on the other side of the room before resuming his former position. He looked relaxed but Lestrade could see the nervous tension in his body - little wonder if he'd been concerned about Lestrade finding his scars off-putting. He really needn't have worried though.

"Jesus..." Lestrade breathed as he surveyed John's naked body. "I haven't seen anything that good in a long while." He looked around for somewhere to hang his damp towel.

John smiled. "You can stop with the flattery now."

"Not gonna happen, sorry. Not while you look like that."

"Shut up and get over here."

Lestrade was far more used to giving rather than receiving orders these days but he didn't think he'd have any problem following John's lead; in fact, he almost saluted before rushing to comply. He slung his damp towel over the back of a chair and carefully lay down on his side facing John, propping his head up on one arm. He could feel the heat from John's body, millimetres away from his own.

"So..."

"So," John agreed.

"I'm feeling a lot less sleepy now."

"Is that right?" John smirked.

"Stop being a bloody cock-tease!" Lestrade leaned over John and kissed him.

John shifted his hips and turned so they were facing each other. He ran his hand from Lestrade's shoulder down to his waist. "You OK? Ribs not too sore?"

"I'm _fine_ \- more than, in fact. As long as we save the more energetic stuff for another time."

"Got it , no swinging from the chandeliers."

They kissed again, legs twining around each other, hands and lips and teeth cautiously wandering and exploring.

Knuckles clashed as they both reached down at the same moment, leading to more giggles then gasps and groans.

Lestrade looked down in surprise at John's deft touch before it hit him. "Fuck... of course - you're a leftie...... that's fucking brilliant," he observed.

"Yeah, we can lie like this... and have your best hand... and my best hand... both on top. Works well, eh?"

" _Nnnnnnggg_.... Oh shit, John, I'm not gonna last if you... _Ohhhh_..." Lestrade gnawed at his bottom lip before he started babbling. It had been _so_ long since he'd had another hand but his own do that - and so perfectly - just the right amount of tug versus squeeze...

"Fuck... _Fuck_... me neither... Jesus, Greg..."

Lestrade tried to focus on what he was doing to John rather than the other way round but that rapidly proved to be an impossible task. He buried his head in John's shoulder as his climax hit him embarrassingly quickly.

He was incredibly relieved when he felt John follow him almost immediately.

They clung to each other, gasping for breath and then - they both convinced themselves later it was the other - _someone_ snorted and they both dissolved into laughter.

"Oh God, I'm sorry - I haven't come that quick since I was twenty," Lestrade admitted, rolling over onto his back.

"Me neither. Shit, I needed that."

"Yeah... We should get cleaned up... Again."

"Yeah. Gimme a minute..."

"Sure..."

* * *

It was dark when Lestrade opened his eyes again. John was still crashed out naked beside him but their modesty was covered by a single sheet and Lestrade's clothes had appeared on the chair, when he knew he'd left them in the bathroom.

From somewhere downstairs came sounds of glass clinking against glass - Sherlock, experimenting on something or other.

Or pouring himself a stiff drink after seeing both of us in the altogether... Lestrade thought with a grin.

John gave a small huff and rolled over, resting his head against Lestrade's shoulder.

Lestrade looked at him, still not quite believing his luck, then mentally raised a toast to the madman downstairs who'd got them into jail, into trouble, out of it again and - most importantly - together.

_Cheers, Sherlock..._ Lestrade planted a gentle kiss on John's forehead and drifted back to sleep...

 

_~~~fin~~~_


End file.
